Itchy
by QuantamTheory
Summary: COMPLETE. A black tie affair is no place to scratch an itch. Rated T for sexual innuendo, a cuss word, mention of body parts, and a physical condition that doesn't belong in polite company.
**A/N:** We've been seeing a wave of new KiMa readers lately! To celebrate, I took a little break from the next chapter of Family Matters and outlining the Life Lessons sequel to write this little one-shot. Another instance of Maka getting Kid all riled up because she's naughty that way!

 **PSA:** If you like KiMa, please be sure to check out the Death the Kid x Maka Albarn Week Facebook page (which is kidmaka-week on Tumblr). Prompts should be up in a little while, and we hope to see lots of participation this year from readers and writers!

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Liz always said that Kid salivated at the chance to don a tuxedo. She wasn't, he admitted, too far off the mark. While he'd never actually _drooled_ over it, he did have an entire closet devoted to his collection of formal wear. This evening's black tie reception was the perfect excuse for a midnight blue Tom Ford dinner suit with double vents and a shawl collar. It was the same model sported by Daniel Craig in _Quantum of Solace_ , and Kid loved wearing it.

He did not love some of the mingling that often went along with it. He'd just finished a dreadfully boring conversation with diplomat that he _knew_ wouldn't be supportive in their attempts to mediate a peace treaty in North Africa. As punishment, he'd handed the blowhard off to Patty with encouragement to "keep our guest entertained". The poor bastard would probably end up in the koi pond before the night was over and it would serve him right.

Kid turned to a nearby mirror and smoothed the pleats of his shirt, glad that fly fronts were in style so he could forgo the despised studs that made his shirts vertically asymmetrical. He used the preening as a discreet opportunity to search the room behind him in the mirror's reflection. He was trying to find his girlfriend, who'd been broadcasting mild distress through their bond. It was stronger than the usual anxiety that radiated from her at formal affairs and he worried that someone might be hitting on her. Not out of a sense of proprietary misogyny, but because the last partygoer who'd pinched her butt ended up with three broken fingers and a rather loud promise of death-by-scythe .

He finally spotted her, standing alone in the shadows of a curtained window alcove. She was picking uneasily at the waist of her moss-green evening gown, a picture of beautiful discomfort. Since she wasn't engaged in a conversation that he'd be interrupting, Kid crossed the ballroom toward her, watching her squirm the entire time. Her dress, while simple and modest, was form-fitting, and the wiggling made for a very enticing view.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly when he reached her. She nodded affirmatively but didn't speak. Her anxiety kicked up a notch, though, and she shifted uneasily.

"Hey, don't be so nervous. You haven't threatened to kill anyone all night." he joked, then, in a serious tone, added, "And you look ravishing."

In typical Maka fashion, she'd refused excessive adornment, limiting accessories to her platinum state ring and a tiny beaded evening purse. Kid thought the other women in the room looked overdone by comparison. Then again, no woman ever measured up to her in his eyes.

"Thanks." she sounded distracted, and the way she kept sliding her shoulder blades around was just weird.

"Am I bothering you?" Kid finally asked, "Do you want to leave, or-"

Maka shook her head. "It's nothing like that.", she interrupted, "Nothing about this, or you or anything. I feel icky, that's all."

"What do you mean?" Kid asked apprehensively.

Maka glanced furtively around the room to see if anyone was watching them. Satisfied that they weren't being scrutinized, she leaned as close to him as she could and still keep up an appropriate appearance.

"I'm _itchy_." she hissed, feeling her face get hot, " I'm so itchy I can't _stand_ it!"

Well, that wasn't anything he'd expected. It wasn't like Maka to complain of physical discomfort. Just the opposite, in fact. He'd literally sat on her once to keep her in bed when she was determined to go on a reap with a 104-degree fever. If she was complaining about itchiness it had to be _bad_.

"What is that dress made of? Are you wearing some kind of makeup or perfume you're not used to? "Maybe something bit you; is the itching localized?"

"Kid, stop getting yourself all worked up. I'm fine."

But Kid was already worked up. In fact, he was rapidly approaching panic.

"Are you having an allergic reaction! Did you eat anything strange? Do you have hives? Does your face feel swollen? It's all red." He turned her head from one side to the other, squinting critically at it. Maka figured they had maybe half a minute before somebody noticed his behavior and came over to ask if something was wrong. She pulled him further behind the curtain and away from prying eyes.

"I said I'm fine. It's nothing life-threatening, just embarrassing. Which is going to get worse if everybody starts staring at us!"

Kid let go of her face and stepped back, looking so freaked out that Maka almost laughed at him.

"Please don't worry. It's nothing bad, I promise. Just stupid girly stuff."

Even though were really open with each other, that seemed awfully personal to Kid. Dangerously close to the TMI Zone. But perhaps this was just another part of developing intimacy? Like bathing or peeing or brushing their teeth in front of each other? _Time to man up and deal with another bewildering fact about women, Kid._

He cleared his throat and felt his own face growing redder by the second. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Please forgive me if I'm being improper, but may I ask why your...girly stuff is, uh, itchy?"

He acted ridiculously formal when he was out of his element. Maka found it incredibly adorable.

"It wouldn't be improper for you to ask me _anything_." she took his hand and patted it, "but it would probably be improper for me to answer you here."

Oh good. Improper itching. Now he really didn't want to know.

Still concerned about being overheard, she fished her phone out of the little purse and sent a text to him.

 _Liz told me lace underwear is sexy. So I got some and it's scratchy as HELL!_

Understanding, relief and intrigue crossed Kid's face in rapid succession.

 _Maybe you should take it off_ he texted back.

She gave him an alluring little smile.

 _Can't_

 _Why not? I'll hide them in my pocket. Dare you._

She smiled again, smugly this time.

 _Not unless you have huge pockets._

Kid gave her a smirk. _Huge? Under a dress like that? How very disappointing._

Maka made a face at him. The one she wore when she was about to suggest something wild, like cliff diving, hiding Stein's chair in a closet, or having sex out on the balcony at three in the morning. A face that told him she was going to put his halfhearted dare to shame.

 _There's no way I can get this corset thing off without anyone noticing._ she typed, gleeful despite feeling like everything from her breasts to her upper thighs was covered in sandpaper. She loved giving her boyfriend secret little teases in public, especially since their positions required so much unflappable decorum. The look in his eyes right now made every scritchy minute of the evening worthwhile.

Kid nearly dropped his phone into a potted palm. She knew sexy lingerie was on his list of kinks. Pretty close to the top, in fact, and the racier the better. His collar suddenly felt too tight.

It got worse when she followed up with, _Plus, I'd have to unsnap the garters and then my stockings would fall down._

 _You're killing me._ He pressed send and pulled the collar away from his neck a little.

 _This ought to finish you off, then!_

A few seconds later she sent him a link and when he clicked on it his eyes almost popped out of his head.

"You're wearing this?" he asked out loud, "Please tell me I can help you take it off. Now would be a good time."

Now his pants felt as tight as his collar, which put him in a terrible position. Accessorizing a tuxedo with an erection was a definite breach of etiquette. Worse than a colored waistcoat or a Nehru collar, even.

Maka put her finger against his lips, "Shhh! Behave yourself. We still have an hour of this thing left. Then you can do anything you want."

She gave him a big innocent grin and stepped out of the alcove, skirts swishing enticingly. Kid watched her go, feeling awfully itchy himself all of a sudden. His father waved her over and she was introduced to an old guy with a sash full of medals, looking like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

He was still staring at her longingly when Liz appeared beside him.

"I've been looking all over for you. What are you doing back here?" she demanded, sounding frazzled, "I have three people asking for you, and Patty just forced some poor ambassador to arm wrestle with her. I think she might've fractured his wrist."

Kid hastily turned away from her to hide his predicament. "If she rips his hand off maybe they'll replace him with a more reasonable envoy. And those people are just going to have to wait a bit longer."

Liz's frown promised a whack upside the head at the earliest opportunity.

"You are fucking useless!" she snapped, inwardly bemoaning the fact that she was going to have to make up for her siblings' shortcomings _again_. Being the big sister and Lord Death's hostess really sucked sometimes.

She left in a huff and for once Kid was glad to be in trouble; she'd been way too pissed off to notice his current condition. He took a deep breath and tried to turn his thoughts away from sexy underwear and onto horrible, libido-killing things. Liz punching him. Politics. Unmatched socks. Black Star's incessant bragging. Oh, that was a good one. He'd think about that for a moment and then he'd be calm enough to complete his social obligations.

One more hour. Sixty minutes, and then he'd be free to drag his girlfriend upstairs and scratch her itch. Then he remembered he had a bowtie, cufflinks, cummerbund, braces and a complicated three-layer trouser tab to undo before he could even _think_ about getting his actual clothes off. Formal dress instantly lost its appeal, for the rest of the evening at least. Damned stupid tuxedo.

* * *

 **Pointless A/N about Tuxedos and Bond Fandom** : Historically, midnight blue is actually considered more formal than black for tuxedos because it looks darker under low lighting. Before modern dyes were developed, black often looked greenish in yellow light. Thanks to my child, who is the biggest Bond fan ever, my headcanon says that Kid is a huge Bond fanboy. Also that he loves tuxedos, because with the nipped waist and the shirt cuffs showing below the jacket sleeves, his everyday uniform is closer to a tux than a classic business suit.


End file.
